A Son of Aran Read online

  Tadhg Cloherty was glad to see them—it had been a long time since Peadar was in his house. Of course they could stay with him for the night.

  ‘Come in from the rising wind and rain,’ he said.

  A hearty meal of bruitín was soon on the table. After Eileen had gone to sleep, they sat by the hearth fire. Tadhg inquired after Peadar’s health, asked him where he had been these past months, and what caused him to be on sea this stormy night. Without revealing the full story, Peadar told him he was on his way to Aran but thought to let the storm pass before attempting a crossing in the hooker without a helper.

  ‘Moladh le Dia (praise to God),’ exclaimed Tadhg, ‘this is an answer to my prayer. I want in the worst way to go to Aran. I haven’t been feeling very well recently. I’m not fit to sail a boat on my own—it’s the galar chroí that afflicts me. I haven’t told anybody about it until now. If only I could get a handful of clay from my grandmother’s grave, I’m convinced it would cure me. The Concannons, my mother’s people, were known for their healing powers. My mother often told me that, during her lifetime, people came to her ancestors’ grave to get a cure for their ills—cleithín, rheumatism, failing eyesight, and animal diseases like galar na gcat, sputhán, and red water. The cure was never known to fail. If I could get to the island, I’d take some of the clay back with me. I’ll find a turf boat that will bring me home—nobody will be any wiser about the purpose of my visit.’

  ‘Tadhg, I’ll be glad to take you with me to Aran and you can be assured I’ll not disclose your illness to anybody.’

  Between them they finished a bottle of poitín before turning in for the night.

  ‘Are you in a great hurry to get to Aran? ’ Tadhg asked the following morning as they sat around the table to partake of a hearty breakfast of porridge and caiscín

  ‘Why don’t you stay until the wind has blown itself out. The child could do with another night’s sleep. You wouldn’t want her to be sea sick on the way.’

  ‘I’m grateful for your invitation, Tadhg, but I don’t want to impose on you for that length. However, on account of Eileen, I’ll accept your offer. It will give me an opportunity to say hello to some more of my friends in Kilkieran.’

  The sun was high in the sky over Camus and the Connemara hills when all three awoke. The storm had blown itself out and the sea was calm. Meeting his old friends and having convivial dialogue with them, lifted Peadar’s spirits. Events of recent days were put behind him as they drifted slowly out of Kilkieran and set sail for Aran. Eileen, now fully awake and rested after two good nights’ sleep, plied Tadhg with questions about the names of the rocky headlands and islands they passed on their way to the open sea. She told him about the dolphins they had seen on their way from Galway and asked if they were dangerous. He told her she had nothing to fear—dolphins were friendly, playful creatures who had a special affinity for humans.

  ‘Some people believe they are an omen of good luck,’ he said.

  ‘I think we are going to be very lucky,’ Eileen replied. ‘When we get to Aran, daddy and I will see lots of dolphins when we go fishing. I love Aran,’ she added—’I can’t wait to get there and I’m never going to leave it.

  As the hooker rose and fell with the action of the waves, in a feeling of euphoria, Peadar broke into a verse of song that the master had taught them at school:

  On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell

  A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell.

  Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,

  And they called it Hy Brasil—the Isle of the Blest.

  ‘Daddy, you are always singing about Hy Brasil—where is that place? Will you show it to me?’ asked Eileen.

  ‘I will show it to you, alannah, but not today. Hy Brasil is a long, long way out to sea—it would take a lot of time to get there. First we must make our way to Aran—that’s enough journey for one day. See if you can remember the names of sea birds that we meet on the way, cormorants, shags, gulls— there are many different species. If you watch closely you might catch a glimpse of jelly fish, pollock, hake, porcupine, and dogfish—they are all out here in the wide blue ocean.’

  The day wore on. With little wind to propel them, their pace was slow. There was nothing they could do to expedite the journey. Tadhg hadn’t forgotten to take with him a bottle of the crayther (poitín) and, for the want of something more important to occupy them, he shared a noggin with Peadar. They exchanged stories of their experiences at sea while Eileen listened open-mouthed and plied them with questions when she didn’t understand what they were talking about. It would have taken a person more street wise than the child to interpret some of their conversation. She laid her head on a sail-cloth in the prow and soon was fast asleep. Between snatches of storytelling, filled with the fire of distilled spirit, Peadar broke into snatches of song. His melodic renderings of An Spailpín Fánach, Thíos i Lár an Ghleanna and Fáinne Geal an Lae, resounded from the deep with nobody but Tadhg to appreciate them and he was already nodding to sleep. Peadar noted the position of the evening sun, and hoped that the course he set for Inish Mór would take them there despite approaching darkness and a thick mist which was falling around them. Keeping a weather eye open for craft that might cross their path he hummed gently to himself and tried to stay awake. Eventually, he succumbed to sleep and dreamt of youthful days in Aran, his father’s demise, and his mother’s philosophy—’Glóire do Dhia a thugas beatha dúinn agus saol siorraí,’ (praise to God who gives us life here and hereafter). He awakened to the soft murmur of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. A full moon provided clear visibility to the far horizon; there was no sign of the island.

  ‘Have we strayed off course while I was asleep?’ he thought to himself. ‘We don’t have to worry unduly for there is safety in the open sea. If we are patient we are bound to make land in one place or another.’ Relieved of the trauma of the past days he burst into song once again to the rhythm of the waves:

  From year unto year on the ocean’s blue rim

  The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim.

  The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay,

  And it looked like an Eden, away far away.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely to sail away for ever to that legendary land?’ he exclaimed to Tadhg who awakened to the singing. My mother claimed that my father found the place and stayed there. He never came back; his body was never found.’

  ‘I don’t go along with that tale,’ replied Tadhg. ‘If there was such an island we’d have come across it all those years when we fished half way to Newfoundland.’

  ‘Still, Tadhg, there are lots of things we don’t know. What about Oisín who was absent for a whole lifetime and came back to find his companions had all passed away? Where did he go in the meantime?’

  Tadhg had no answer. Peadar continued with his song about the man who was said to have found Hy Brasil and never returned:

  A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale,

  In the breeze of the Orient loosened his sail.

  From Ara, the holy, he turned to the west,

  For though Ara was holy, Hy Brasil was blest.

  Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hush,’ he said to Tadhg, ‘what is that sound coming out of the mist?’ ‘It’s like as if somebody was moaning or calling for help. Listen; there it is again. Can you hear it?’

  Both men strained their ears to listen—only the cry of a gull and the wash of waves against the boat reached them.

  ‘It must be a seal,’ said Tadhg, ‘the call of the mother seal to her young is like the cry of a human being. What person would be calling for help at this hour in any case? We haven’t seen sight of a boat since we left Connemara.’

  Peadar wasn’t convinced. Saying no more, he remained alert for any repetition of the sound. None came. It was well past midnight when they got their first glimpse of land.

  ‘Begorra, Tadhg, we’re on the right course after all. If I’m not mistaken that’
s the island ahead to starboard; we should reach it within the hour.’

  Kilronan and the village above the pier were silent as a grave when they tied up the hooker at the quay wall.

  ‘Come on, Eileen, we’re home at last,’ said Peadar, as he raised the girl on his shoulder and set out on the half mile trek to his house, with Tadhg following close behind. There was no welcoming hearth fire to greet them. Máirtín or his mother had no forewarning of their arrival. They partook of whatever food they had brought with them and, having prepared sleeping quarters for Tadhg and Eileen, Peadar threw himself down on a mat of straw on the kitchen floor. Tomorrow he would make arrangements for fuel and food; to-night all would sleep soundly after their voyage.

  Cackling of hens and heavy footsteps aroused him from his dreams; he figured that either Máirtín or his mother had arrived to feed the poultry and milk the cow. Without waking the others, he pulled on his corduroy trousers and homespun jacket, and tried to open the door. Someone had bolted it on the outside. Looking through the window he alerted Máirtín and signed to him to undo the bolt. Máirtín was astonished to see him—he felt sure nobody was in residence when he secured the door late the night before after returning from a wake on the other side of the island. He greeted him warmly and asked where had he been these past months. Taking him to one side, Peadar related to him in confidence the story of his wife’s infidelity and departure to Spain. Máirtín was silent as he listened. Two nights previously when he came to close the hens’ coop, he suspected somebody was in the house but he didn’t disturb them. At this stage he decided not to mention the incident to Peadar.

  ‘Better by far for everyone that she’s gone,’ he said. ‘Who wants a wife or a mother of her kind? Eileen will come to realise that in her own time. On the island you can make it known that you and your wife have separated. Situations like this are not unknown here. Young women become dissatisfied with their isolation from the outside world. Sometimes they leave their husbands for the bright city lights. Don’t worry, Peadar, with time and patience everything will come right. We’ll try to console Eileen until she becomes used to the changed circumstances. I’m sure my mother will help. Women are better than men at handling those situations.’

  ‘Surely, that is a coat that Saureen used to wear when we lived in Galway—how come it is hanging in our room?’ Peadar asked himself when, later that day, he had time to look more closely around the house and prepare sleeping quarters for Eileen.

  ‘Saureen hasn’t been to Aran for several months—did she leave it behind the last time? There’s a faint smell of perfume too? I haven’t taken much notice of what scent Saureen has been using since Eileen was born. Maybe the smell is coming from the coat! It doesn’t matter now in any case—she’ll not want for fine clothes or perfumes in Spain.’

  On visiting Máirtín’s house that morning to discuss plans for resuming fishing, Máirtín’s mother had something to tell: ‘A strange woman with a scarf tied closely around her head and face called here in the dark two nights ago. I asked her to come in but she declined—she just stood at the door in the half-light. She wanted to know if Peadar O’Flaherty had come back to Aran. She gave no reason for her inquiry. I don’t trust strangers looking for information about islanders. I told her I had no knowledge of your movements, and that I couldn’t enlighten her. I said if she told me her name and where she was living, I would let her have any news I heard. She didn’t reply; she went away without saying another word. I thought that very peculiar.’ Peadar listened but he didn’t pursue the conversation.

  ‘Is it possible that Saureen hasn’t gone to Spain with the captain after all?’ he thought. ‘Is this part of another devious plan hatched between them to get hold of Eileen? Where is Saureen now? Is she on the island awaiting her opportunity? I must take precautions for Eileen’s safety.’

  ‘Tadhg, will you do me a favour?’ he asked, later that day. ‘Máirtín and I have arranged to join the crew of a bád mór (big boat) to fish for hake seventy miles out to sea where a shoal is running. An opportunity of this kind doesn’t often arise—a catch of hake will command a good price. We leave on the tide tomorrow morning. I would be grateful if you would stay here until I return and keep an eye on things for me. Eileen will stay with Máirtín’s mother and she will go to school from there. I have another reason for asking you. An attempt was made to kidnap Eileen before we left Galway— I’ll tell you the full story some time. I am afraid the people concerned might try again here in Aran. If you oblige me by staying, I’ll be forever grateful to you.’

  ‘Of course, Peadar, I’ll stay as long as you want. I have no urgent reason to go back to the mainland. I can start applying the poultice while I’m here. If I run short of clay, I won’t have far to go for more. Off you go fishing. I’ll keep an eye on things and I’ll be here when you get back.’

  Having given his word to the crew of the fishing boat, Peadar didn’t want to leave them in the lurch. Although he was concerned for Eileen’s safety, he was confident that she would be all right until they returned from the fishing trip in a day or two. To be doubly sure he confided his fears to the local Garda sergeant, and asked him to be on the alert for strangers coming or going on the ferry at Kilronan. Despite heavy seas and high waves blown up by a westerly gale, their first day’s fishing was successful. All hands worked in concert to pull net after net laden with fine specimens of fish. At nightfall the boat was laden to gunwale—it was time to turn for home. Exhausted after their strenuous labour, the crew took turns at catching up on sleep. A bright morning sun dazzled their eyes as they entered port.

  ‘What is all the commotion about?’ one of them asked. A crowd of people had gathered around some object on the pier. Berthing the boat, not waiting to discharge their haul of fish, they pushed their way through the assembled throng. The parish priest was there with the local sergeant. A cordon had been formed to keep the public from approaching too near. Within the circle lay the partly clothed body of a female that had evidently only recently been taken from the water.

  ‘Does anybody recognise this woman?’ the sergeant asked each man in turn as they approached. Peadar stood over the corpse for a moment before he bent down to look more closely. Ashen faced, he reeled and grabbed hold of Máirtín.

  ‘It’s my wife,’ he cried aloud. ‘Saureen, Saureen, what has happened to you? I thought you had gone to Spain. What foul deed has brought you to this state? Who has done this to you?’

  ‘Peadar Ó Flathartaigh, come with me to the barracks,’ said the sergeant. ‘There are questions I must ask of you. Guard, you will arrange for the removal of the body to the boat house. I will contact the medical doctor and the coroner. This woman appears to have been dead for some time. An inquest must be held as soon as possible to establish the cause and time of her death.’

  ‘Mr. Ó Flahertaigh, you have stated that the deceased is your wife. Will you recount to me all you know about her presence on Aran, how long she has been here, and her movements over these past days. You will also relate to me when and where you last saw your wife alive, what transpired between you on that occasion, and where you have been in the intervening period. I must warn you before you begin that you are a prime suspect for her death—anything you tell me may be used in evidence later.’

  Peadar trembled at the thought that he might in any way be accused of Saureen’s death. He told the sergeant he had nothing to hide; he himself was the most surprised to see her body on the pier. He told him of their parting in Galway, following which he understood that she had gone to Spain with the captain of the Sansander. He told him of their attempt to take his daughter Eileen with them, and how he had thwarted their plans. He had no knowledge of when or for what purpose his wife had come to Aran. He himself had been away fishing for the past two days and had only just returned.

  Listening intently, the sergeant reminded Peadar of his earlier statement to him that he was afraid a further attempt might be made to kidnap his child. He asked if this c
oncern was occasioned by a fear that his wife had somehow returned to the island. Peadar replied that he heard a report of a strange woman having inquired about him, but he had no knowledge as to who that might have been. He had no reason to assume that his wife was anywhere in the country.

  ‘I believe you are telling the truth,’ said the sergeant, ‘but there are unanswered questions in this case. You are free to go, but do not attempt to leave the island until police investigations are complete. I sincerely hope that you have proof of where you were and who was with you these past days.’

  ‘I can vouch for every hour since I left Galway on the day before the storm and I have witnesses to bear this out,’ answered Peadar.

  The inquest was brief and inconclusive. Peadar identified the body as that of his wife, Saureen Uí Fhlathartaigh. Two local fishermen, out checking their lobster pots in the early hours that morning, testified that they found the body floating in the sea about a mile off shore. Sorcha, Máirtín’s mother, recognised the deceased as the woman who had called to her door very late on the night of the storm to ask about Peadar. The doctor who examined the corpse certified that death resulted from drowning. There were no marks on the body to indicate force. The time of death was uncertain, but he estimated that this had occurred within the past seventy-two hours. The inquest returned a verdict of death by drowning—there being no evidence to show how the deceased had got into the water.

  Eileen wept uncontrollably as her mother was laid overboard in Kilronan lifeboat station.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ she cried, ‘why has this happened to us? Why didn’t Mammy come to Aran with us in the hooker? We could all have been so happy here—why, Daddy, why?’ Sorcha and other women tried to comfort her but to no avail. Peadar would have liked to have Saureen waked in his own home but local superstition held that, in the event of death outside the family home, a corpse should not be taken back there. After Mass in the local chapel on the following day, she was laid to rest in the Ó Flathertaigh family plot alongside his grandparents and great grandparents.